


Dealt An Unexpected Blow

by schumie



Series: BLOWVERSE [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schumie/pseuds/schumie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima has an interesting encounter at a bar. Well, technically behind a bar. In an alley. It's all very undignified. </p><p>(Part 1 of the BLOWVERSE series.)</p><p>
  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7973518"> read part 2 here</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dealt An Unexpected Blow

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just needed to get this out of my system. The AU was inspired by one that was listed in this post  
> Edit: made a few small edits and added some cultural notes in the endnotes.

Midorima was not one for drink. His father would occasionally invite him to have a snifter, and Midorima was always required to join him. The snifter was always a precursor to a low-voiced conversation about what step Midorima should take next in his life. Those conversations, and thereby the brandy, became unwelcome.

Midorima, during his student research time, had accompanied professors on drinking excursions somewhat regularly, but he was good about finishing his first drink and making his second last the rest of the night. After the first drink, he would redirect the alcohol, instead offering to pour for the professors.

Midorima had nothing against those who drank, he just didn’t like rowdy and obnoxious people. Unfortunately, alcohol seemed to bring those two characteristics out of even the most normally palatable people. Even more than the obnoxiousness and rowdiness, Midorima didn’t like having to look after the people who became rowdy and obnoxious. An old teammate had told him that trait wasn’t very becoming of someone who intended to be a doctor, but Midorima did not think holding back peoples’ hair while they vomited or paying to send drunk people home in cabs had anything to do with his future career goals.

 Midorima simply did not like inconvenience, and he liked drama even less.

 He did, however, understand basic social necessities and propriety. He was unable to turn down the invitation for a welcome drinking party on the second day of his Residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the Kansai region. He understood that, as it was a welcome party for him, he would be unable to refuse drinks, and any attempt to make a drink last multiple hours would be thwarted.

He was aware that he had become tipsy two hours into the night, and when round two of the party was moving to a new location, he knew that he could not bow out. He also understood that he was borderline inebriated at that point.

 It was a loud, western-style bar. Dark and woody and there was foreign music and even a few foreigners there. There were too many people for a Tuesday night and the bathroom seemed to be constantly occupied. There was a soccer game weakly attempting to overpower the music in the background noise.

 When borderline inebriated became more on the side of deeply intoxicated, and the toilet seemed eternally occupied, Midorima found himself in the alley behind the bar, listening to the music hum and pound as he orally relieved himself of the last four whiskey highballs--out of sight and earshot of his new coworkers.

 When he was done retching, one hand supporting himself against a wall, he had enough wits about him to attempt to search for his handkerchief….which he’d left in his jacket, which was...somewhere in the bar hopefully. Maybe. Was this the second or third bar? How could he have let himself get so out of hand?

 Something tapped him on the shoulder. Midorima whipped his head quickly to look, then back again just as fast when he felt another wave of nausea hit him.

 “Here, take mine,” something invaded the corner of his sight. Midorima took two deep breaths and stood up slowly. He turned to look at the blue and black hand towel that was being held out to him. “Smells like you got in a fight with some highballs and the highballs won,” the voice said with a hint of...condescendence? No. Amusement then.

 Midorima glanced up at the person who owned the arm that had the hand that was holding out the towel. His vision was a bit blurry, but he could make out a young man around his age, shorter than him, with dark hair and narrow eyes. The young man was smiling at him in the dark.

 “If I accept that, I won’t be able to return it,” Midorima swimmingly eyed the towel.

 The young man shrugged and grinned, “I really don’t think I’d want you to anyway.”

 “...then, thank you,” Midorima nodded and took the towel. It was a little sweat-damp and Midorima grimaced, but it was better than going back to his colleagues with spit and god knows what else on his face. Midorima wiped swiftly at his mouth and chin.

 “Uhhhmm,” the man still hadn’t left him.

 “Yes?”

 “You’ve, uh, heh,” the young man appeared to be literally biting back a laugh, chewing on his lip amusedly. “got a little something in your hair…” the man reached forward and, without a bit of hesitation brushed the clean part of Midorima’s bangs away from what was apparently the contaminated portion. “How did it even get up there? That’s, like, an achievement, or something. You should probably wipe it though.”

 Midorima hoped that his deep blush of embarrassment wasn’t visible in the dark, but he wagered it probably was by the way the young man’s bleary eyes seemed to widen a bit. Or maybe not. Midorima was far-sighted, and drunk, so it was difficult to focus on them when they were only a  meter away. Wait, where were his glasses? Hopefully with his handkerchief...

 “Right, sorry, um,” and the man's hand was taken away. Midorima moved the towel to his hair and wiped at it, trying not to gag at the thought of how he must appear. When he finished, he threw a look at the young man to ask if it was all gone, but the young man was staring at Midorima intently, almost accusingly. Midorima felt bitter. He’d warned the man that he wouldn’t get his towel back, so the man had no right to be annoyed. Still, Midorima had utterly soiled a stranger's towel.

 “Er, thank you for your towel, is it all gone?” Midorima broke the awkward silence with his shame.

 “Huh? Ah, yeah, it’s gone. I just…”

 “Yes?”

 “No, it’s just, I didn’t notice it before when you were puking a whiskey lake over there but...you’re really hot.”

 Midorima thought he might throw up more.

 “I mean, like, really, really hot.”

 Midorima had never been faced with that amount of situationally inappropriate behavior, so it was understandable that he was confused. The first testament to his degree of drunkenness was that Midorima’s knee-jerk reaction was to say, “But I’m covered in vomit.”

 “You’re not covered in vomit,” the young man stepped closer to Midorima, closing the already small distance between them “not anymore, at least,” he peered up into Midorima’s face, “and you _definitely_ are hot.”

 Instead of the feeling of revulsion Midorima had expected, his soggy mind could only go in unsteady circles of thought. He wondered, removed, if he was about to be robbed and wondered if his wallet was still in his pocket like it had been at the beginning of the night. He had never before in his life craved fried chicken but he could smell it from the back of the pub two buildings down and he wondered if he could stop for some on the way home. He also thought intensely that he wished he could see the young man’s eyes better in the dark. And, was he about to be robbed? Because, his wallet...

 The movement of dark hair managed to bring Midorima’s focus back to the moment. Specifically, the absence of dark hair from his straight line of sight. It took Midorima an incredulous second to realize that the man’s hands were on him, on his hips, and that the man’s black hair hadn’t disappeared, merely moved down and was now at stomach level.

 Before Midorima could recover from shock enough to even begin to splutter protest, the sound of his zipper giving up beat him and a hand was gripping him through his boxer briefs.

Midorima gaped down into eyes that were looking up at him now, and for the first time he saw them clearly and they were silver, slanted like a fox’s. They were accompanied by a mischievous and charming grin that Midorima was still trying to see better when the grin talked.

 “Don’t puke on me, yeah?”

 And then the eyes were gone and the grin was wrapped around the tip of Midorima’s dick.

 Midorima would have protested but he was too busy gasping in shock, and well...stimulation. Instead, Midorima fumbled at the man’s head, attempting to push it away. But then a surprisingly long and very warm tongue licked up the base of Midorima’s cock and Midorima didn’t feel like he was capable of doing much of anything besides breathing. The warm lips wrapped around one side of Midorima’s cock, slid up it, moved around to kiss under the frenulum, then up and over to swallow Midorima down to the base.  Midorima’s head jerked back involuntarily and he hit it on the brick wall. The pain was dull and muffled by the extreme sensation of cheeks suctioning around his dick. He gripped the fine hair under his fingers for stability. That small action brought a moan out of the young man, making him hum around Midorima’s cock.

 Without thinking, Midorima gripped the soft, slightly sweaty hair in his hand and pulled again, experimentally. He was rewarded with another shiver-inducing vibration and moan. Midorima shuddered against his will, pressing himself back against the brick as hard as he could. He suddenly couldn’t stand well.

 Midorima had the urge to see those eyes again. He gripped the hair and tilted the man’s head back. The man opened his eyes, and Midorima thought he would never not remember them. They flashed silver in the dark. Narrow, curved, wild--like a stray cat. At the same time, Midorima’s cock popped out of the man’s mouth. The man stared at him for a second and Midorima wondered what he looked like to the man. He realized there was cold sweat on his face. They stared at each other like that, wild silver eyes staring up at Midorima, bigger from this angle, and Midorima noticed the man was wearing black jeans and a baggy tshirt and…Midorima’s eyes were captured by the man’s again. The man smiled and began to pump Midorima’s cock in his hand.

 Midorima narrowed his eyes and bit his lip, just a little, to keep from making any indecent noises. The man continued, staring up at Midorima, and kept their eyes locked, even as he moved his mouth to Midorima’s cock again and licked, once, twice, slowly at the slit. Midorima could feel his chest swell with the deep breaths he had to take. The man smiled, just a little, then, eyes still locked on Midorima’s, took the head into his mouth again and ran his tongue around the corona. He moved his hand at the same time, pumping and turning it around the shaft. He sucked, hard, and Midorima inhaled quickly. The man noticed and seemed to enjoy Midorima’s reaction. He continued, occasionally swallowing Midorima deep to wet the shaft again for his hand, then returning to give attention to the tip. His eyes would disappear from sight the. And Midorima found himself torn between the....very good...sensations and a strange urge to lift the man's face.

 The man licked underneath and sucked around the top of Midorima as he pumped his hand, watching Midorima’s reactions the whole time. When Midorima gasped as the man pushed his tongue into the red slit, the man’s eyes seemed to gleam. He wrapped his lips around the head again, sucking, and then suddenly lightly bit the top of the shaft.

 Midorima slammed his head back against the wall again, turning his face to the cool brick and panting into it. His mind was foggy, thoughts of how he was glad he wasn't wearing his glasses because he would probably have broken them, swimming to the surface with the full pain in his head. The momentary lapse in concentration broke when the man bit lightly again then sucked hard, as if telling Midorima not to look away. Slowly Midorima turned his head back slightly and watched the man out of the corner of his eyes.

 “I--I’m going to-” Midorima choked out deeply.

 “Mmm,” the main replied around Midorima’s cock, pumping his hand ruthlessly.

 Midorima’s whole body seemed to seize up and he gripped the man’s hair tightly in his hands, shuddering everything into...into….

 The man pulled away, licking his lips.

 “You…,” Midorima stared at him in horror, “you swallowed it,” he panted, sliding down the wall slightly. "That's...dangerous for you."

The man stepped forward, putting hands on either side of Midorima, caging him against the wall. The man leaned in and, before Midorima could react, kissed Midorima once, long, and his lips were thicker than Midorima’s, and warm. Then he was opening the back door to the bar and half gone through it.

 “Thanks, that was fun,” the man said, and flashed a grin at Midorima before disappearing completely into the loud music and cacophony of drunken voices.

 Midorima was left, alone. He stared at the wall across from him. He could smell the fried chicken still. He...he could taste himself on his own lips.

 Midorima buttoned and zipped his pants, still leaning against the wall for support. He slid down it, slowly, to a crouch. He tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He was having a difficult time. His horoscope had warned about this. Something unexpected happening. 

 Midorima mopped at his mouth again with the blue towel that he realized he was still holding in one hand. How long had it been since...that was besides the point.He would have to go back in. He’d been gone too long. His coworkers would wonder. Midorima thought about just going home. He felt exhausted. Would his coworkers see it on his face? Would they look at him and know he had been throwing up and then received fellatio from a complete stranger in an alley?

 That fried chicken smelled _really good_.

 

 

* * *

 

To say Midorima had had a headache the next day would be an understatement of such a large proportion, it’d be a flat-out lie.

 His alarm clock finally assaulted him awake after it had been going off for seven minutes. He rushed to put on clothes, brushed his teeth so fast his gums hurt, and rushed to work.

 Midorima then managed to stagger his way professionally enough through his rounds, though not without friendly teasing from his coworkers who had been present the night before. Midorima couldn’t for the life of him figure out how they were all operating as usual--he guessed they were probably all functioning alcoholics. After a hellish shift, he was able to stagger his way home, where he remembered to wash his face and remove his glasses before passing out on his bed.

 He woke up at 4am, still in his jacket, with the image of silver eyes seared in his head, and a ridiculously hard erection. Then and only then, when he had time to think and no pounding headache, did he recall what had happened the night before.

 And chose to immediately forget it.

 For the better of his mental well being and for the sake of any ounce of pride he may have left. Which, after remembering the...sticky...details, was not very much. at. all.

 Midorima removed his jacket, went back to sleep, and woke up the next morning refreshed and ready for another double shift.

 

 

* * *

 

Midorima worked. Hard. His superiors praised him and his fellow residents came to either respect him or despise him. Both groups would often come to him for help because he was swift, efficient, accurate, and while his bedside manner was only a bite away from cold, his sincerity and devotion to proper care won over all of the older patients he worked with and (probably with the help of his green hair) some of the younger ones. The women patients whispered about him and the male patients nodded approvingly at his work ethic.

Midorima was, without hyperbole, good at his job.

Midorima didn’t sleep.

 While his fellow residents were split in their opinions of him, they would still begrudgingly invite him out on occasion to go to a pub or bar with them. Midorima almost always declined. Almost.

Midorima’s phone rang while he was on his lunch break, which was supposed to be one hour  long, but usually consisted of Midorima drinking a corn soup from a vending machine and going over charts then back to work, or a coffee, soy joy bar, and back to work. But that day Midorima’s phone rang.

 His father.

 “Hello, Father,” Midorima answered. He listened cooly, steeling himself. Yes, his residency was going well. Oh, he wasn’t aware that Dr. Tamai had been reporting about him regularly. He understood that he shouldn’t slack for a single second--this was his only real chance to prove his worth. Yes, he was doing double shifts. No, he wasn’t doing any OR work, by choice. Yes, that diagnosis of Cushing Syndrome had been correct. Yes, he was aware he should be careful making more rare diagnosis. Yes, he would ask for more double shifts.

 When Midorima’s father seemed satisfied, Midorima asked the only thing he was ever curious about when his father called him--how was his sister doing--and then gave the cursory “tell Mother hello,” and waited for his father to hang up first.

 Midorima put the phone back into his pocket and rested his head on his hands, corn soup forgotten. He was found that way by a resident who came in to have lunch at the same time. The resident, seeing Midorima, asked if Midorima was okay, and didn’t he think he was pushing himself a bit too much? Midorima had to hold back an eyebrow raise and huff. The girl meant well. She came over to the table he was sitting at and Midorima feared he’d have to speak to her while she ate her cup ramen, but she asked, a bit stutteringly, if Midorima would like to join her and four other residents. They were going out that night and Midorima looked like he could use a drink.

 Midorima looked at her slightly blushing cheeks and his initial reaction was that he couldn’t be bothered, but then he felt the weight of the cell phone in his pocket and the weight of two weeks of double shifts. The image of slanted silver eyes flashed in his mind. Midorima knew he shouldn’t go. Not only did he not particularly care for the company of any of his colleagues, but he had proven himself to have a low alcohol tolerance and to make horrible decisions, the same as the people he despised, while drunk.

 “If I’m welcome, I’ll join,” Midorima stated bluntly. Midorima decided that, while that embarrassing scene before had been mostly his fault because he could have prevented it, the chances of him running into another man in an alley while vomiting behind a pub, let alone running into a man who seemingly wanted nothing except to give a charity blow job to Midorima...well, those chances were very, very slim.

 The girl’s eyes widened just a little bit but then she smiled lightly and said he was definitely welcome and they were going to leave the hospital together at 10pm. Midorima listened half-heartedly to the details, thinking instead about how to avoid Dr. Tamai for the rest of the night.

 

 

* * *

 

As he always did on the rare occasions he joined social outings of his own will, he regretted it almost immediately.

 His fellow residents were drunk within the first hour and he was running out of polite excuses and reasons to reject the girl who had invited him out.

 And the questions. Apparently Midorima’s family lineage and who his father was wasn’t as much of a well-kept secret as he’d hoped. When everyone at the gathering became aware he was the son of the famous Midorima-sensei at Tokyo Hospital, Midorima saw more than one set of eyes glitter at him and more than one pair of male lips purse in annoyance. But they were all curious about him.

 Because he was “basically silent and super serious” at work, his coworkers liked to pelt him with questions, most of which were personal and he really didn’t see the merit in relation to their work. He knew it was important not to have bad standing with coworkers, so he tried to remain neutral. It was getting increasingly difficult to derail their lines of inquiry and to siddle away from the grabby hands of a growing number of women (and one of the men, who had attempted a very short, very one-sided game of footsie under the table).

 Midorima was careful not to drink to excess, but he found himself steadily sipping at nihonshu just to make it through the night.

 When one of the men proposed a drinking contest between himself and two of the others, Midorima took the chance to excuse himself. At first he headed towards the bar, but then he decided a moment of (relative) quiet would be welcome and headed to the restroom. He was halfway through the bar when a loud laugh and a flash of silver made him stop in his tracks.

 Midorima blinked and shook his head. The probability of him running into the same stranger at the same bar on the same day of the week was...surprisingly high, actually. But…

 Midorima turned and watched as black hair swished and a hand waved a pardon. Silver eyes turned, and for one moment, one long, deep moment, they met his...and passed right over him. The young man made his way to the back of the bar, and Midorima found himself following him.

 He followed him all the way to the back of the bar where the man walked into the bathroom. Midorima knew from his previous experience that it was a one-stall bathroom and wasn’t even close to drunk enough to think it was a good idea to follow a man into a one-stall bathroom. He wish he’d had that kind of discrepancy before, when….when, well…

 Silver staring up at him and the memory of a warm mouth was enough to make even Midorima blush awkwardly as he stalked an unknown man outside a bathroom. Midorima paced, his mind running a mile a minute in circles. What would he say to the man? Why had he even followed him? What would--

 The door opened and the man stepped out, then looked up, surprised.

 “Woah, sorry. You shouldn’t stand that close to the door, might get whacked in the head, you know,” said a cheerful voice. A smile that closed eyes to slits.

 Midorima wanted to see them open.

 “I...um…”

 “Don’t worry, I aimed well. Now…” the man’s eyes cracked open and he stared at Midorima.

 Midorima stared back. The man was exactly how he’d remembered him, only…

 “Uhh, are you okay? Can you let me pass?”

 Midorima realized he was blocking the small bathroom hallway. He cleared his throat, pushed up his glasses, and nodded, a little two curtly.  
  
“Thanks,” the man smiled as if he were holding in a laugh and walked past Midorima swiftly.

 “W-wait!”

 Before Midorima realized the voice had been his, the man was turning around to face him, an eyebrow raised, quizzical look on his face. There was no going back. He’d already made himself look like a fool.

 “Do you remember me,” Midorima asked with as much poise as he could. Silver eyes glanced him over, passingly.  
  
“Sorry? Do I know you?” The squinty smile was back. Midorima didn’t like that smile. He liked the one that wasn’t sly like a fox.

“Three weeks ago we met here.”

 The man cocked his head to the side, still smiling questioningly. “Sorry, I’m here pretty often and--”

 “In the alley,” Midorima cleared his throat.  
  
“In the…” the man repeated, clearly thinking deeply.   
  
“I--I wasn’t doing too well and you were there and…” Midorima didn’t know why he was continuing. He didn’t know why he was doing any of this. Midorima was tired of social cues and niceties for the evening. “You performed fellatio on me.” His stated factually.   
  
Silver eyes opened wide. For the first time, the young man was looking at him. Really looking at him. Piercing eyes slowly swept over Midorima’s face and body. Midorima had to control his breathing or he thought he might say something ridiculous again. The man cocked his head and smiled at him--a dashing smile. “Right. Three weeks ago,” the man nodded. Midorima wasn’t, in any way prepared for the man’s next question though.   
  
“Which one were you?”

 Midorima nearly choked on his own spit.

The man watched patiently as Midorima collected himself. When Midorima had recovered from momentary shock, outrage began to boil in him. He felt his fists clench, well-manicured nails digging into his palm as his head dropped in shame and then anger.  
  
“Oh!” the man nearly shouted, and Midorima jumped, just a little. “ _Right!_ I remember now! The guy who was hurling chunks! That was pretty bad, were you okay the next day?”   
  
Suddenly sharp silver eyes appeared in Midorima’s vision, looking up at him. “I totally remember now. It was your eyes. You're wearing glasses today, so I couldn't tell as well.” the man smiled up at him.   
  
“W-what,” Midorima spluttered, not even sure where to begin or whether he should begin. He stood up straight so he could level his gaze at the man.   
  
“Yeah. I couldn’t forget those eyes. You’ve got some pretty stunning peepers. You’re not wearing colored contacts, are you? Those aren’t fake lashes are they?”

“I-I would never,” Midorima tried to sound put-out while still recovering.  
  
“Mm-hmm. Beautiful. Looking at you now, you’ve got a good body too...A _really_ good body,” the man grinned. He put his hands on his hips and held his head high. “I have great taste.”   
  
Midorima pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose indignantly, “Great yet apparently indiscriminate.” He could hear the iciness in his own voice. He was disgusted with himself.   
  
“I believe in equal opportunity. But you were easily the hottest BJ I’ve given this year. Even if you smelled like vomit.”   
  
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or a declaration of how loose your morals are?”   
  
“...Coming from the man that let a stranger give him head in an alley after puking his guts up?” The man smiled again, his fox smile. Midorima found himself inwardly relieved when the man didn’t pucker at Midorima’s jab. Midorima had made the remark without thinking, lashing out.

 “I...I’m sorry. That was...uncalled for and rude of me, I had no place in commenting on your chosen sexual conduct or the frequency of it.” Midorima found himself saying.

 The man took a step back and leaned against the opposite wall of the very narrow hallway. He surveyed Midorima. “Apology accepted. You obviously thought it was great head, anyway.”   
  
“I-I never said,” Midorima spluttered.   
  
“Oh?” The man crossed his arms and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “So you’re saying you followed me to the restroom and stopped me in the hall because you had a horrible time and _didn’t_ enjoy my mouth around your dick _at all._ ”   
  
Midorima thought about replying but he knew when there was enough evidence against him and instead opted for tactical silence. The man waited for a moment before smirking. Midorima thought about turning tail and going back to his coworkers and pretending like nothing had ever happened. In fact--   
  
“Takao.”   
  
Midorima blinked. The man held out a hand. Surprisingly large for his stature. He would have been able to possibly palm a basketball, Midorima found himself thinking. Nice hands, strong-looking. The hand waited, in front of him, and Midorima reminded himself it wasn’t just there for him to look at.   
  
“Midorima,” he reached out tentatively. The man’s hand was warm. With his other hand, Midorima instinctually began to dig for a business card but was stopped.

“I know,” Takao nodded at the hospital badge that had been hanging around Midorima’s neck all night and he had completely forgotten about. “Nice to put a name to the dick, though,” he smiled warmly. His hand gripped Midorima’s firmly for another split second, then let go.  
  
“Look, I gotta get back to my friends, and you don’t look like the type who’d come here on his own, so you probably have coworkers to get back to too, so…”

“Yes, of course,” Midorima said vaguely. He wondered how the man had reached that verdict, and how he could have been so accurate. He watched as Takao took his hand back from Midorima’s, smiled, and passed Midorima to head to the center of the bar. Midorima watched each movement, wondering what would be the most logical action for him to take next. His train of thought was interrupted, though, when Takao stopped to call back over his shoulder.  
  
“The stalkery bathroom thing was kinda creepy but I like your go-for-it attitude. And those eyes really are pretty fantastic. I’m here alone on Fridays to watch the basketball games. Maybe next time you can buy me a drink.”   
  
A silver eye winked, a grin flashed, and Takao disappeared into a small sea of drunken bodies at the bar.

 Midorima stared until he couldn’t see any more hints of shiny black hair. He blinked, wondering what was wrong with him that he had taken part in any single part of that conversation, let alone started it.  
  
He made his way back to the table, shell-shocked, where his coworkers were still busy with their drinking contest. He took his seat again and made half-hearted replies to inquiries of where he’d been.

He spent the rest of the night devising the best method to get himself out of the night shift on Friday.

**Author's Note:**

> [ read part 2 here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7973518)
> 
> Yell at me [on tumblr.](http://www.schumie.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Note: In Japan, it's very common for coworkers or bosses and their employees to go out for drinking parties. These can happen fairly often but they especially happen when new employees join, employees leave, and for the end of the year. These are called enkai and very often jump from two to three places/bars/pubs. It's basically impossible to turn one of these down if your boss asks you to go.  
> In Japan, most people carry a small towel (washcloth size) with them because bathrooms in Japan commonly don't have paper towels. People dry their hands on their own towels, and during the summer, use them to wipe away sweat. It's super handy. During the winter, it's more likely for a businessman to carry a handkerchief/pocket square and a towel in the summer.  
> The Kansai region is the Osaka region in Japan. It's the center of the main island, Honshu.


End file.
